Page 14 of Walking the Bird

“The two years of sobriety I celebrated with this beautiful woman last month.” The lie falling from Alex’s lips with the same ease it had a month ago during the last job he’d accepted. Sliding his phone to the center of the counter, Eleni’s sweet face resting in the center. “Have you seen her in here today?”

Bash leaned over, taking a hard look at the photo of the beautiful woman. “Can’t say as I have. Is she missing?” Apprehension filled Bash’s chest. Human trafficking was big problem here on the island, and the woman looking back at him would fetch a hefty price for one of the scumbags waiting beyond the barriers at the end of the beach for an unsuspecting tourist.

“She isn’t here yet.” A slurred voice spoke from the seat next to Alex.

Glancing down, Alex found the inebriated face of a middle-aged woman staring at his phone. “I’ve seen her sitting over there,” the woman slurred, pointing the cigarette she held between her fingers in the direction of a table at the edge of the patio. “With a man, a little older than you.” She hiccupped, “But not nearly as handsome.” She attempted to whisper, but the alcohol in her system prevented it.

“Surely, you’re mistaken, Mrs. Fletcher.” Bash tried to reason.

“Listen to me, young man. I may have consumed enough over-priced booze to preserve me for the grave, but I’ve been drinking since the day I married Mr. Fletcher. Trust me, in thirty years I’ve built up a tolerance. Your girl comes to the bar, sits at the same table where she is joined by a man. They laugh and talk drink a bottle of red wine, he pays and walks her inside. I see them together in the morning running on the beach.”

Alex held in the gasp forming in his throat. Daily red wine was something Eleni had done since they’d been together. Running was something special they used to do before he ruined their marriage with his insecurities.

Reaching into his pocket, Alex pulled out his money clip, slipping off several bills. “Here, Mrs. Fletcher. Allow me to buy you a drink.”

Alex could feel the hand of pain slipping into his chest, his throat thick with emotion from the reality he’d really lost her. “And, Bash, I’m going to need that bottle of Jack behind you.” He ordered, laying additional bills to the stack, and then pocketing his phone.

Bash complied wordlessly, his place was to serve the guests, not judge their actions, no matter how hard he wanted to.

Gripping the neck of the bottle, Alex tipped his head in Mrs. Fletcher’s direction before crossing the expanse of the patio to the table his wife allegedly shared with another man. Dropping his body into the cushion of the chair, Alex twisted off the cap, tossing it to the center of the table before bringing the bottle to his lips. The whiskey burned as it flowed down his throat, chasing the need to break down and cry with it. He planned to sit here and wait, confront Eleni and let her know this was his fault and if she wanted to be with this older man, he’d let her go.

As the sun dipped beneath the horizon and the moon lit up the sky, Alex expected to see Eleni walk through the door. Checking the time on his wrist, he was surprised to see it was well after midnight and wondered if the couple decided to have their bottle of wine in the penthouse instead.

Reaching for the mostly untouched bottle, Alex moved to stand when several flashes of light went off at the end of the beach. Curiosity gripped him as he stepped away from the table, leaving the bottle and his anger behind as he made his way toward what appeared to be several individuals shinning flashlights into one of the old shacks beyond the boundary lights.

“Conch fishing.”

“Excuse me?” Alex stopped in his tracks, his attention focusing to the old woman with a broom in her hand to his left

“Those men you’re staring at, they are getting ready to go conch fishing.”

Feigning ignorance, Alex plastered a smile on his face. “Is that what they’re doing?”

“Yes sir, they bring them in and cook them up for the tourists in town. Good eating, you should try some.”

“Thank you, I will.” Alex agreed, smiling wide as he watched the woman resume sweeping the patio.

Slipping into the shadows of the vegetation, Alex made his way down the front of the resort, keeping a watchful eye on the men with flashlights. He’d counted four in total, average height and build, as they struggled to pull what looked to be a row boat across the sand and into the ocean. Reaching the end of the boundary, Alex looked behind him, finding the beach deserted, then darted across the sand to the edge of the shack. Two things he knew first-hand about conch fishing. One, you couldn’t do it at night as you needed the light of the sun to find them. Two, there was no way in the world those men could row a boat long enough to reach an area deep enough to fish.

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